Gentle Voice

Thursday, May 26, 2016

End of May Poems (in Paro)

looking-

a man looks at a mirror
and off he goes
abrupt
and then a woman looks at a mirror
and then she looks at the mirror some more
watchfully
carefully
alert
relaxed
and the man stops in in his tracks
looks at the woman looking in the mirror
and looks at her some more
the annoyance changing to admiration
and the man learns to become a man who knows how to look
at a woman
looking
at a mirror
without creeping her out
yet keeping her in
meanwhile
the woman is still not done looking through the mirror

anticipatory-

Odd Wednesday
breaks Even
the Week
sitting smack in the midst
squaring up
all the Other
days
there's so much Riding on this Day
I'm afraid
it's gonna
Fall
and
Fail
just like Monday Tuesday Thursday Friday Saturday Sunday
and
this Wednesday

baby laundry-

hangs on the laundry line
funny little suit pajamas
for funny little men
and funny little women

housefly eyes-

in the eyes
of
the housefly
the room is his world
and he is
the centre of his universe
so he polishes his mighty limbs
so he grooms his important wings
buzzing his song
sounding his gong
in his housefly eyes
he is doing nothing wrong

burnt grit-
we leave the little fire
as drizzles become droplets
now raining
hitting the tin sheet roof
drumming up
gathering crescendos
the roof shelters us dry
meanwhile
the gutsy little abandoned fire
still
burns
with a warm desire
that cant
help but
consume
itself
and
disappear
without
a
cry

worded-

words exhausted
we speak silent
each wondering where the other's words went
i think
words
never quite
understand
what they mean
to say
and fail
to say
what they mean
but we are not gonna quit
trying words
are we?

secret nests-

birds.
what are these birds?
that fly.
glide winds.
soar skies.
that peck and worm.
sing for a living.
living a song.
and where do they get their songs?
songs that sweet.
songs that heart.
songs that gut.
salt. and weep.
their feathers!
those patterns!
plumes and colors!
and who paints their wings?
raven black.
peacock blue.
eagle brown.
flamingo pink.
humming red.
dove white.
as if on cue...
sparrows land
hopping around these questions
darting answers
and flies away to its nest full of secrets

dressage-

this morning i looked at my clothes
and something eerie gave
the jacket looked at me
tired
the jeans seemed
disgusted
and the boots had gone hiding
in protest
i know what you're thinking
but i tell you the inner pants are fine
i understand
their lament
and until i get some new garment
there's nothing i can do but wear their torment!
i guess when your clothes talk you know why you wear
them
all the time
i say wear it off

a dry day in bhutan-

its tuesday
(a dry day)
it's the (bhutanese day) of (no booze)
officially
where bar cum grocery shops keep the windows shut
and the doors open
slightly
ajar
(unofficially)
which is enough
for a man who needs a shot
to wet his dryness
moisture his will
tongue his spit
(to wade through the dry land)
so you walk in as if you're there for a cabbage
and you point your finger at the bottle
and she pours you one in a mug
(in elegant practicality)
a wordless exchange
rife with meaning
(well tended)

so.ha.

wherever you look
there it is
wherever it is
there you look
if its not there
there's nothing to look
looking at nothing
there's that thing
now
wherever you look
there it hides
wherever it hides
there it looks
as you find it
you lose it
as you lose it
you find it
so goes my mind
my mind goes so
all you can do
is let it be so
ho.ho.ho.
ha.ha.ha.
so.ha.

hapless-

wood burns
smokes up the air
vanishes in the moonlit sky
but dogs bark
regardless
and men snore
anyways

just wait-

rocky buddha sits atop chumphu mountain
in granite shawl
serene
birds perch upon nightly nest
in quiet repose
dhyana
i turn east
watching moonbeams rise
and tease
serenading
as vesak luna hides
behind zuri ridge
i wait with the copper mountain
on the shaded face
awaiting promised luminosity
and a full silver moon
now graciously lifting
a man
a mountain
and a valley

well heeled-

the polished marble floor
didn't take kindly to
the pretty young maiden's lovely high heels
the stilettos had given in\
and she'd slipped
fallen hard
on that cold marble floor
when we saw her she had passed
they took her to the doctors
fractures in the hips they said
poor girl i was thinking
she'll never trust those delicate heels again
and always distrust these cold hard marbles
but
she made a warm comeback
still in her marbled heels
flooring the marble
and everyone who saw her floored